fic: storm born - chapter thirty-six
Title: Storm Born
Author: Morgen
Summary: It was supposed to be their one chance to be together. Instead it plunged them straight into a nightmare.
Disclaimer: I don't own LOTS or profit from it in any way. Just worship it from afar.
Rating: PG-14
XXXVI. ENDURANCE
The first thing she came to understand was that it would have been better to die. When the sisters had been still alive and under her power, she should have ordered them to kill her. A swift death by their dacras for her and her child would have been far, far better than this.
It was not just the pains of childbirth. They were still there of course, twisting through her body in brutal, rhythmic waves. But for all that they hurt, they felt natural. There was something almost reassuring about the predictability of her labor pains, and she knew she could have endured them. It was the other, greater agony that would be her undoing. Brand new, white-hot pain that writhed and spread throughout her body, leaving her all but paralyzed and unable to stop shaking; the toll of the Underworld on the living. She should have turned to ash herself long ago, but whatever she’d drunk down had stopped that, and forced her into this lingering, living death that would last as long as the birth took. Until her daughter came to life in the waiting arms of the Keeper.
And through the hazy, pain-filled maze of her mind, Kahlan realized that was exactly what she could not allow to happen. Her daughter could not be born. Could not be allowed to live. That knowledge hurt worst of all, and a broken sob escaped her throat despite her efforts at holding it back. Above her, standing back and silently watching was Darken Rahl; through her tears, he appeared no more than a blur of black and red.
Kahlan turned her head from side to side, and finally caught sight of what she was searching for. She had long stopped wearing daggers in the boots she couldn’t reach, but a dacra lay not far from her, glinting in the dim gloom of the Underworld. She could take hold of it if she stretched out her arm all the way, but then she would have to be fast. Her belly seemed to swell like a mountain before her, and that was where the dacra would have to plunge swift and sure with her last breath. If she delayed at all, Rahl would surely notice and stop her.
Tears ran freely down her cheeks, remembering how Richard’s strong, gentle hands had cradled her belly, how he’d whispered to her about their child; hope and sorrow, loss and love all rolled into one precious being. The daughter she had thought he’d be holding soon, and now would never get to see. The one she was about to kill herself. Wherever he was, she could only hope he’d understand. He’d never find her now, not in this deadly, forsaken place, and even if he knew, he couldn’t reach her. She had no other choice left.
She’d planned to make a quick grab for the dacra, but it hurt so much, she could only drag her arm to the side in tiny, halting increments. The rocky ground left scratches on her bare skin but she didn’t feel them, lost beneath the greater agony of life wrung slow from her body.
Her hand made it a quarter of the way there, then a half. Still Rahl seemed not to notice. She had to stop and breathe then a long while, staring up at green smoke and dark stone, the air foul with the stench of death and vomit. Her hand slid a little closer, fingers straining as she thought about her daughter. She ran love like a ribbon through her head; love, love, I love you. She thought it again and again as she struggled, hoping that her daughter’s newborn mind would somehow hear and understand. That she would know her mother did this out of love for her, and not a lack of it. That nothing had ever hurt her more than this.
Blinking away her tears, Kahlan reached out again, giving herself wholly to the task just as a heavy, black boot swung down. The dacra skittered across the stone. Not far, but just enough to be out of reach, like a cat toying with a mouse. Her hand fell limp and defeated to her side.
Rahl squatted down next to her, lip curling, a faint expression of distaste on his face. “So you want to die, Confessor? You will get there soon enough. Give birth and you will be free.”
“No.” Her voice was not much more than a whisper.
He chuckled softly. “You think you can resist? That you can long hold off and keep your body from doing as it is meant to do?”
It was in that moment Kahlan decided that was exactly what she would do. She would hold this child inside her until the effort killed them both. She could do no more, and no less than that.
For awhile, it was almost easy. She lay there, riding the waves of pain. Half-delirious but no longer struggling against it. Her thoughts drifted to Richard, and she imagined him there, her head cradled in his lap instead of resting on cold stone. He would smooth his fingers through her hair and wipe her brow. You can do this, he would promise. You can. I know you can, you can, you can. She smiled weakly as her body shook.
Rahl watched her, patiently at first, but by degrees he became more agitated, pacing a wide circle around the ground on which she lay. She began to wonder when something more would happen. When she would begin to die in earnest. And then something shifted deep within her; her labor changed, the pain becoming suddenly, fiercely purposeful. It filled her up with an all consuming urge to bear down and push. To birth her babe.
There was no resisting. She groaned and gasped and did as her body demanded, pushing her daughter closer to life. In desperation, she fixed one thought in her mind and one thought only. If she did not fight this, she gave her child, Richard’s child, into the waiting arms of the Keeper. Not just as all souls go, but as his most devoted servant. He would have a Confessor of his very own. This was the world’s destruction promised in the prophecy, and it could not be.
She locked her ankles together, her fingers digging desperate at the rock until they bled as she tried to hold back. With failing strength, she fought against the urge that grew and grew inside her, the voiceless command to push out her child and give her life. The feeling was one she could not have prepared for even in the depths of her darkest nightmares. For the first time since being captured, Kahlan Amnell began to scream.
Author: Morgen
Summary: It was supposed to be their one chance to be together. Instead it plunged them straight into a nightmare.
Disclaimer: I don't own LOTS or profit from it in any way. Just worship it from afar.
Rating: PG-14
XXXVI. ENDURANCE
The first thing she came to understand was that it would have been better to die. When the sisters had been still alive and under her power, she should have ordered them to kill her. A swift death by their dacras for her and her child would have been far, far better than this.
It was not just the pains of childbirth. They were still there of course, twisting through her body in brutal, rhythmic waves. But for all that they hurt, they felt natural. There was something almost reassuring about the predictability of her labor pains, and she knew she could have endured them. It was the other, greater agony that would be her undoing. Brand new, white-hot pain that writhed and spread throughout her body, leaving her all but paralyzed and unable to stop shaking; the toll of the Underworld on the living. She should have turned to ash herself long ago, but whatever she’d drunk down had stopped that, and forced her into this lingering, living death that would last as long as the birth took. Until her daughter came to life in the waiting arms of the Keeper.
And through the hazy, pain-filled maze of her mind, Kahlan realized that was exactly what she could not allow to happen. Her daughter could not be born. Could not be allowed to live. That knowledge hurt worst of all, and a broken sob escaped her throat despite her efforts at holding it back. Above her, standing back and silently watching was Darken Rahl; through her tears, he appeared no more than a blur of black and red.
Kahlan turned her head from side to side, and finally caught sight of what she was searching for. She had long stopped wearing daggers in the boots she couldn’t reach, but a dacra lay not far from her, glinting in the dim gloom of the Underworld. She could take hold of it if she stretched out her arm all the way, but then she would have to be fast. Her belly seemed to swell like a mountain before her, and that was where the dacra would have to plunge swift and sure with her last breath. If she delayed at all, Rahl would surely notice and stop her.
Tears ran freely down her cheeks, remembering how Richard’s strong, gentle hands had cradled her belly, how he’d whispered to her about their child; hope and sorrow, loss and love all rolled into one precious being. The daughter she had thought he’d be holding soon, and now would never get to see. The one she was about to kill herself. Wherever he was, she could only hope he’d understand. He’d never find her now, not in this deadly, forsaken place, and even if he knew, he couldn’t reach her. She had no other choice left.
She’d planned to make a quick grab for the dacra, but it hurt so much, she could only drag her arm to the side in tiny, halting increments. The rocky ground left scratches on her bare skin but she didn’t feel them, lost beneath the greater agony of life wrung slow from her body.
Her hand made it a quarter of the way there, then a half. Still Rahl seemed not to notice. She had to stop and breathe then a long while, staring up at green smoke and dark stone, the air foul with the stench of death and vomit. Her hand slid a little closer, fingers straining as she thought about her daughter. She ran love like a ribbon through her head; love, love, I love you. She thought it again and again as she struggled, hoping that her daughter’s newborn mind would somehow hear and understand. That she would know her mother did this out of love for her, and not a lack of it. That nothing had ever hurt her more than this.
Blinking away her tears, Kahlan reached out again, giving herself wholly to the task just as a heavy, black boot swung down. The dacra skittered across the stone. Not far, but just enough to be out of reach, like a cat toying with a mouse. Her hand fell limp and defeated to her side.
Rahl squatted down next to her, lip curling, a faint expression of distaste on his face. “So you want to die, Confessor? You will get there soon enough. Give birth and you will be free.”
“No.” Her voice was not much more than a whisper.
He chuckled softly. “You think you can resist? That you can long hold off and keep your body from doing as it is meant to do?”
It was in that moment Kahlan decided that was exactly what she would do. She would hold this child inside her until the effort killed them both. She could do no more, and no less than that.
For awhile, it was almost easy. She lay there, riding the waves of pain. Half-delirious but no longer struggling against it. Her thoughts drifted to Richard, and she imagined him there, her head cradled in his lap instead of resting on cold stone. He would smooth his fingers through her hair and wipe her brow. You can do this, he would promise. You can. I know you can, you can, you can. She smiled weakly as her body shook.
Rahl watched her, patiently at first, but by degrees he became more agitated, pacing a wide circle around the ground on which she lay. She began to wonder when something more would happen. When she would begin to die in earnest. And then something shifted deep within her; her labor changed, the pain becoming suddenly, fiercely purposeful. It filled her up with an all consuming urge to bear down and push. To birth her babe.
There was no resisting. She groaned and gasped and did as her body demanded, pushing her daughter closer to life. In desperation, she fixed one thought in her mind and one thought only. If she did not fight this, she gave her child, Richard’s child, into the waiting arms of the Keeper. Not just as all souls go, but as his most devoted servant. He would have a Confessor of his very own. This was the world’s destruction promised in the prophecy, and it could not be.
She locked her ankles together, her fingers digging desperate at the rock until they bled as she tried to hold back. With failing strength, she fought against the urge that grew and grew inside her, the voiceless command to push out her child and give her life. The feeling was one she could not have prepared for even in the depths of her darkest nightmares. For the first time since being captured, Kahlan Amnell began to scream.